The North Artillery Range Part 3

[charshy.livejournal.com]

((OOC: holy crap.))

Spoilsport.

Matvei was vaguely irritated by Andrei's sudden adoration of their moody sniper.

It just... wasn't right.

Ocelots had to earn their place. Matvei had done his bit by trying to be polite and friendly, but Andrei was already swearing blind devotion.

He couldn't help but feel slightly disturbed by that.

Comments

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

"That's what this about? They think...that I'm screwing Ivan Raikov?" demanded Ocelot.

The time for innuendo was well past. Blunt reprisals for blunt force trauma, he thought, dazedly.

Ocelot rubbed his brow, without waiting for confirmation from the Captain.

"No fucking wonder. No fucking wonder they were...Christ, but how?"

He stopped, and looked directly at Irinarhov, scowling fiercely, his eyes bright blue and vexed, his cheeks as flushed as his cruel, shapely lips.

"I don't mean 'how did they find out', Irinarhov," he declared, glaring. "I mean, I'm not. I've never touched the bastard. Not once. We're off limits, strictly hands on the table. Friends, that kind of thing."

It occurred to Ocelot that there was one sure way trouble got started, and that was through Ivan Raikov.

He narrowed his eyes.

"I'm going to fucking eviscerate him."

The threat was convincing enough to the ear; however, it rang depressingly hollow in his own mind. He couldn't really deny that Raikov had seemed as bemused and quizzical as he was at the odd looks and quiet whispers that followed them, together and separately.

And if Raikov didn't do it, that meant there was no one to take this out on.

No one to blame.

It was just not fair. His fingers itched to pull the trigger.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian was surprised at Ocelot's vehemence - was Major Raikov really that bad? After all, Ocelot had said they were friends - though he believed the major was telling the truth, and had not meant to insinuate.

The indignation that crossed Ocelot's etched face was just too raw.

After a moment, he understood. It wasn't that the idea of relations with Raikov was so offensive, it was the outrage of being accused of something Ocelot just didn't do.

That, Kassian knew.

He gave Ocelot a single, somber nod to show him that he had accepted his words as truth.

"Use it to your advantage," he told Ocelot. "Embrace it."

Denials would only strengthen belief, and turn the knowledge into a precious, dirty secret to be flaunted about. With open admittance, the novelty would wear off, and if it went far enough, would shift the rumor in the opposite direction, to that of merely a grand joke.

Of course, Ocelot could always try another tactic, of trying to ignore it completely, though given the circumstances, Kassian didn't think it would work.

[major-ocelot-2u.livejournal.com]

Ocelot opened his mouth to voice an incredulous retort, but realized he was speaking too soon, as the logic of Irinarhov's words sunk in.

"Embrace it," he said, angling his gun at the sniper and ticking it thoughtfully. "Not bad, Captain."

He smiled darkly.

"Not bad at all."

It was a tactic he might have thought of himself, once he calmed down enough to detach from the immediate insult of matters.

He set his jaw.

"Shouldn't be hard to sell to Raikov," he snorted, tipping his gun up under the band of his beret to adjust it. "Not bad, Irinarhov. You're surprising me with your usefulness. Don't stop."

Ocelot paused, looking at the sniper sidewise.

"Shouldn't you be joining your unit at the barracks for recon?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

His face did not change, though he was relieved that Ocelot had unintentionally answered his unasked question of where to go next.

"Yes, Major," he said simply, taking Ocelot's words as a dismissal. He gave a short nod before turning to head back to the barracks, before Ocelot thought to question his earlier loitering.

In truth, Kassian had not been expecting things to go so well with the major. Kassian was not the sort of man who felt the great need to impress his commanding officers, though having Ocelot favorable to him certainly made things easier.

Especially considering how he'd managed to earn the ire of both Imanov and Charushkin.

And possibly Isaev as well, he thought with a frown, though for some reason he didn't feel as anxious. Talking to Ocelot had settled him even though he wasn't sure why, and when he caught sight of other Ocelots, he found himself searching for Isaev, rather than hoping to avoid him.

If Ocelot's personal crisis could be settled by a matter of perspective, then perhaps so could Kassian's.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei lay on his bunk, staring up at the bottom of Ilya's, where he'd carefully tacked the target with its deliberate grouping of hasty cyrillic.

Even some time later, he was no less impressed. Nor any less moved by the intent that drove Irinarhov to carve out his apology in metal and paper.

He reached up, frowning, tracing the low, ragged edge of a bullet hole with his finger. Following the topography of Irinarhov's skill.

He could trace the muscles of the sniper's trigger arm the same way, Andrei thought. Raw and wrought in bursts of violence, remnants of a barrage of a life.

But not...unpleasant. No. In fact...

Andrei snipped the thread of his thoughts, glancing outside through the window across the room.

It was almost five o clock and the last of the mountain light was fading outside. The four bed barrack was deserted; Senior Lieutenants Kolyin and Semeyonev kept the duty opposite from Imanov and he, and Ilya was indisposed, as Andrei knew all too well. If he chanced to forget, he was reminded by the silence.

He'd tried to stop by the infirmary on his way back to the barrack. Khostov had refused him entry, saying that Ilya needed his rest, and that exposure should be avoided until his fever went down. He'd persisted, even going so far as to lean into Khostov's personal space, which should have given the slender Doctor pause, as an Ocelot could be physically intimidating when he was inclined- but the chilly man perservered.

No visitors. Come back tomorrow, when your friend isn't running a fever of 106 and delusional.

Andrei had failed in finding Matvei, so far, but figured he would hear him if he appeared. The Junior Ocelot Lieutenants were housed in the room next door. Charushkin's bunk abutted the wall on the other side of his and Ilya's.

Parallel to his own, actually.

Sometimes they amused themselves by knocking quietly on the wall in morse. He always tapped out good morning to Makno, without fail, and usually good night, unless he was distracted or unable.

He practiced tapping out an apology, knowing the room was empty. The sound resonated hollowly, softly, and he settled back, hands behind his head, his gaze falling once more on the target sheet, and his thoughts falling back to the Captain's dark and solemn gaze.

Early moonlight scattered across the floor.

Any moment now, he thought, I'll turn on the lamps.

He lacked the ambition at the moment, but that could change.

These occasional odd moments of contemplative silence were still strange to him, after so may years in the constant company of comrades. As he got promoted up the officer scale, his rankmates became fewer, and the lodgings became more rarified- Ilya and he nearly had this room to themselves, as their counterparts kept diametrically opposed hours.

However, even silence with Ilya in the room, reading or sleeping, or lying quietly, like he was now, felt inhabited.

This felt like solitude, nothing more.

Irinarhov, he supposed, had an entire room to himself, as they had no other Ocelot holding the rank of Captain. That was good luck on the sniper's part. Andrei thought Irinarhov would probably prefer it that way.

Andrei wasn't yet sure if it suited him- maybe he really hated the silence, or maybe merely missed his comrades more than usual because of the unpleasantness of the day.

He wondered which side of the officers' barracks Irinarhov had been assigned to.

[charushkin.livejournal.com]

Matvei had watched quietly as Irinarhov had called Andrei away.

Whilst he couldn't pin down the purpose, he was right when considering the nature of it - the sniper respected Andrei. Perhaps the same way Matvei had done, once he'd gotten over Andrei's first impressions.

He came across as a blasé, rude kind of bastard, in the first moment. A second attempt at his company showed he never meant it, and he just considered everyone friend enough to consider teasing acceptable.

He was just too forward, sometimes. He could brush off the world, carefree, unconcerned, but he forgot that the world didn't necessarily brush off him in the same fashion.

Matvei knew and was uncomfortable with the fact.

Seeing as Kassian was leading Andrei towards the range, he ended up prowling near the kitchens wistfully, wracking his brains on how he could tell Andrei what he was thinking. He needed to say it so he would understand, not just hear the words, pretend to be listening, and continue on his merry way.

... Maybe it wasn't the right thing for him to say. He was weighing up his doubts, afraid that maybe it was his perspective in the way, and he was just odd, or that if Andrei took it to close to heart, he might lose a very good friend.

No, he was making up excuses. He was going to have to grit his teeth, and do what friends did, even if they didn't like it very much.

Like battle prowess: ineptitude, not cowardice.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian had not seen Isaev again all day, except for once, he believed, but only fleetingly, and from a distance. The lieutenant lingered in the back of his mind even during the times he was busy, though there was much to learn, about patrol patterns, maintenance duties, and his other various assignments.

Finally, when Kassian returned to the officers’ barracks at the end of the day, he took a slow pace through the hall and as he passed each room, looked sidelong.

It was easily explained – a newcomer wanting to plot the lay of the land, to know where his comrades were quartered – but in truth, he still only recognized a few faces, and knew fewer names.

He’d been a bit preoccupied.

When he came to the quarters he’d been hastily assigned much, much earlier that morning, he looked in, but all four bunks still had razor-tucked corners and unwrinkled coverlets. No personal effects imprinted even the small personal spaces on the wall next to each bed, and he’d just thrown his duffle in the corner. None of the spaces were earmarked as his, which meant, with no bunkmates, he could choose what he wanted.

Back when he’d still been a major, he hadn’t had to worry about it – instead, he’d had an entire room to himself. But earlier in his career, whenever he’d been dragged through the ranks reluctantly, and by default, he’d preferred the top bunk by nature; instinct told him higher ground was safer. Back then, he’d been assigned to so many squads, and some that were crowded, that he’d just learned to accept whatever was available.

Faced with a choice, he hesitated, studying each bunk, then finally chose the set by the door. The door opened inward, and would temporarily block anyone’s view of his position until they’d fully committed to coming inside. It meant he could see without being seen, even if but for a few seconds, which he found comforting enough to be his new home.

Kassian fetched his duffle and dispensed his gear. Spare uniforms in the closet with spare boots underneath, kit and field gear in his footlocker. He’d had to leave his rifle behind, in the unit’s arms room and even now, found himself noticing its lack. In the field, it was expected that a man sleep with his rifle, but in more civilized areas, there were regulations.

Though Kassian doubted Major Ocelot did without his guns at night.

Kassian carried very little in the way of personal effects, having found over the years that mementos tended to accumulate, taking up space in an already crowded pack.

Aside from his rifle – which was far and away his most treasured possession – he carried only five keepsakes with him.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

The first was a book, but never the same every time; he only held onto the one he currently was reading. No matter how much he’d enjoyed it, or what it had meant, finished books he gave away to comrades before looking for something else to read next.

Kassian tossed his rough-edged copy of the Iliad up to the top bunk, marring the perfect tucks as it bounced. He’d actually had this particular book for some time now, which was unusual, but as of late, he just hadn’t been in the mood for reading.

The second thing he always carried with him was his case of medals. He had no need of them, really, except on formal occasions, and some, he just found absurd. He’d gotten one particular medal for nothing more than getting wounded in Stalingrad, as if that had been some great task.

The others were more generally prestigious – the Order of Lenin was not given out lightly, after all – but still, Kassian felt no need to open the case as he slipped it into his footlocker.

The third token was more personal, and he climbed up on the bunk to tack it on the wall where his head would rest. On the surface, it seemed rather ordinary: a slightly worn black and white photograph somewhat jaundiced with age. Arranged in neat rows were the unsmiling countenances of a squadron of men, each face terribly serious, including his own.

Out of all the memories he carried around in a tangible form, it was the one he thought most often of abandoning. It had been so long ago now, ten years, and he wondered at the point of carrying it around. Unlike what conventional wisdom said, time had not eased the ache, and when he looked at the photograph, he could only recall more bad than good.

Perhaps he was just a glutton for punishment.

The fourth was already in his pocket – he literally always carried it around: a single ruble, pierced by a bullet into a near-perfect hoop, years ago. One side was nearly smooth and curled in at the center, while the opposite side blossomed outward, an exit wound.

Unlike the photograph, the coin brought only good memories, of silly games on the target range or in the field, and drunken shooting challenges. He’d won nearly a month’s worth of ration coupons with one particular challenge, and recalling the memory of it could almost make him smile.

The fifth thing was the oldest; somehow it had survived over twenty years. A letter, the last he’d received from his mother, a month before Kiev had fallen. It was otherwise perfectly ordinary – she’d written about life at home, the factory, her garden. He kept it for sentimentality’s sake, though no longer felt the need to read it. Kassian slipped it in his footlocker with his kit.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

His task done, he leaned his back against the bunk, facing the empty room. It would be quiet with no bunkmates, though he’d long ago learned to sleep anywhere. The only real problem was that he’d be left out of the loop, unaware of both the rumors and the scheming. He recalled the initiation that was supposed to happen later tonight – was he still included?

Kassian was hesitant to ask, and had the feeling that the other Ocelots would hesitate to tell him. Both Isaev and Charushkin had been right, he thought, about his own initiation. It was already too late, and there would be no point. It would not change anything, not with the way things had started.

What should be done, then? Nothing? Isaev seemed to think so, and perhaps, he was right.

Another matter of trust, Kassian thought.

He’d extended his trust to the major and had been justified. Perhaps, he should extend his trust to his fellow Ocelots, as well, instead of keeping them at arm’s length.

And then there was Isaev himself.

Kassian’s head tipped and his gaze became hooded.

How far was he willing to trust Isaev?

Kassian closed his eyes, took in a long, slow breath, and then exhaled, like he did just before he committed to the shot.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei thought about taking a nap, now that he was off duty, but the silence was unsettling, incompatible for relaxing to.

He heard the sounds of the night shift beginning, the sergeants and lieutenants calling orders and the tramp of unified boot clacks on the pavement.

That was nice.

He let his thoughts drift to Captain Irinarhov.

Kassian. Yes. That was his name, though it felt almost unacquainted with the man Isaev had met.

He thought perhaps he should find him, tell him that he had no reason to be sorry, that everyone was always so fucking sorry for nothing at all.

That maybe it was better to show than to tell. A handshake, a grin. A hand on the shoulder.

Tell him that for what it was worth, he was sorry too, and that he didn't know why he was drawn to the scars of fortitude and pain, like the scent of fresh blood in the ocean of his passion.

Why he was so intrigued by a jaded marksman with an obsidian gaze, and years of hard and brutal life beyond his own.

Fuck the motivation, he thought. The result is the same in any case.

Andrei rolled over, pulling off shirt and settling back.

At least he could rest his eyes and listen to the Grad, alive by night.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

He must have fallen asleep for several hours.

When he opened his eyes and checked his watch, it was past midnight, and someone was banging on the door.

"Andrushushka!" the individual hissed. "Da vai!"

It sounded like Igor Timorovich.

"Za chem?" he tossed back, playfully. Ha. As if he'd really forgotten about the night's main event.

He rolled out from beneath his bunk and pulled on his striped shirt, buttoning and belting his jacket over it. Then he pulled on his gloves, scarf and beret.

Charushkin and he would switch to black gloves and balaclavas before they attempted to snatch Vladislaus from the GRU barracks.

He pushed open the door of his bunk room and found Ocelots milling about in the hall, cagey and grinning, chattering amongst themselves.

"This looks like a fucking Bolshoi audition," he cracked, grinning at his comrades. "Are you here to try out for Swan Lake?"

He glanced around, not seeing Matvei, or for that matter, Irinarhov.

Andrei glanced at Fyeodor, also a junior lieutenant.

"Where's Motya?" he asked, frowning.

"He's up and about. Getting rope, I think," the Ocelot added with a grin.

"Ah, very good," aid Andrei, crossing over to the door he assumed was Irinarhov's, as it was Captains' quarters, and previously empty.

No need to make a big deal of it. He was one of them, and he needed to go with them.

Andrei raised his fist and pounded smartly on the door, a military-style knock, succint and audible.

"Irinarhov," he called. "Hands off your cock, bratan. Duty calls."

The welcoming committee would shortly be in session.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Always it is, that the hearts in the younger men are frivolous, but when an elder man is among them, the looks behind him and in front, so that all comes out far better for both sides, Kassian read, but paused as he heard Isaev's words through the door.

His lips twitched sideways.

"All right," he called, and made a note of his page before setting the book on his bunk and hopping down to the floor.

He exited to find Isaev standing there, and the other Ocelots milling about. None of the others seemed to pay him much mind but rather were intent on something else, joking privately with each other.

Kassian felt strangely at ease among them.

Perhaps it was true, that he was an Ocelot now, but it was Isaev's face he searched the longest. If ire or resentment lingered, he saw no sign, and the lieutenant's tone had been light.

"I'm here, comrade," he said with a nod, wondering idly if Menelaos had been prophetic.

He supposed he would find out, this night.

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

"So you are,comrade," declared Isaev, whimsically, clapping a swift hand onto Irinarhov's shoulder. The gesture was swift and perfunctory, but the squeeze was lingering and imperceptible.

"So, here's the deal."

He braced his forearm against the wall and leaned forward casually, confidentially.

"Charushkin and I are infiltrating the GRU general barracks at 1 AM to...acquire the new guy. After that we'll bring him to the soldiers' communal banya..." he continued, absently tilting his head from side to side, "...where the whole unit will be waiting, naked. Oh, bring your balaclava."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian took in the plan as Isaev outlined it, but he knew his look was somewhat skeptical. "I understand," he said slowly, and wondered what and what was in store for the new recruit.

Probably something unspeakably humiliating. Isaev had been quite adamant about wanting to shield it him from it, after all.

He would find out, he knew, but until then he had to put up a good front, though he had to admit part of him was intrigued. Maybe it was the glimmer in Isaev's cinder eyes and the smile that curved his lips. So animated.

Kassian decided this might not be so bad after all.

"I'll follow the others," he told Isaev, tilting his head to match the other man's gaze, now more curious than skeptical. "Good luck with your mission, Isaev."

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Isaev winked.

"I don't need luck," he said, slyly. "I was born under the auroraborealis, you know."

He paused, smiling slightly, letting his eyes skirt the edges of the Captain's gaze.

"All the same...maybe I'll take it, from you. I appreciate the thought behind your gifts, Kassian Dmitrevich."

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

His lips twitched again, but he ducked his head slightly. "All right," he said, pleased, his voice softer. After a moment he looked up and studied Isaev's young face. Boyish still, but the high-cut cheekbones lent an air of nobility.

Andrei Isaev was not bad to look at, Kassian thought, but glanced away before he let it show.

"Can't hurt," he said mildly. "You can share some with Charushkin if you want."

[andrei-isaev.livejournal.com]

Andrei snorted.

"Charushkin can find his own fucking luck," he said, meaningfully. "Yours is spoken for."

He thought back to Irinarhov's first apprehensive expression at the revelation of their plot.

"Oh, hey, Irinarhov...don't worry," he said hastily. "We're not going to...abuse him, or anything. Just, you know...a bunch of naked men makes more of an impact on the psyche. He'll drink just to forget," he laughed.

Or to disinhibit, his mind added, dryly.

"Do svidanya, tovarishch," he murmured, giving a flip salute as he backed down the hall.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian nodded, pleased again, then tipped his hand to his forehead in return. The air between them had been cleared, he thought, and that put his mind more at ease about the night's activities, the role he would have to play.

He ducked back into his room to grab his balaclava, then caught up with the others, who had already started to move. He found himself feeling more at ease around them, glad for their unspoken acceptance. Imanov might command the squad, but Kassian wondered if the Ocelots followed Isaev's cues.

As they moved down the hall, Kassian trailed behind and let the others go first, already feeling like the space was his.